Like this:

I’ve found the perfect spot to write.

Bar Le Tivoli, 34 allee Jean Jaures, Toulouse, France

I went there by chance on Monday afternoon on my way home from a job interview. I couldn’t get home because the metro had broken down and so I decided to get a coffee and fill in some time. I was there for around 40 minutes, and here’s what I wrote…

Jean Jaures, 23 April, 2007

Creamy brown foam swirled on top of a dark shot of espresso. A little white cup on a matching saucer, a silver teaspoon and the obligatory two cubes of sugar on the side.

“Un demi-siecle de Torrefaction” is written in big curly script on the side of the cup.

“Half a century of…” hmm, I wonder what that word means. Torrefaction. Tor-re-fac-tion. Oh! Mustn’t pronounce the n at the end. I always forget to not pronounce the last consonant.

Seems silly to me that they should even put consonnants at the end of their words when they have no intention of ever pronouncing them.

Speaking of pronunciation, that reminds me — I’m on my way home from a job interview. I’m getting much better at it — interviewing, that is, not pronunciation — no, my pronunciation is still quite bad. I tried to say ‘Merveilles’ in the interview but it didn’t quite come out as written — or rather, how it should be pronounced. Nevermind, it will come with time and I can already see so much progress in my French that I’m not that bothered about the finer points — like pronunciation, grammar, syntax — okay, the whole stinking lot needs work, but the main thing is I can communicate with others and get my meaning across. One way or another.

I remember how badly I used to just two years ago. If I recall correctly, I’ve even walked down this street in a state of complete and utter confusion, tears streaming down my face, blisters on my feet, lost, hot and really, really bothered.

I’m not sure why it was so hard, but should you ever find yourself alone and lost in a strange city in a foreign country, with no way of calling anyone who can help you (using a language you can grasp), be sure to let me know exactly what is the straw that breaks the camel’s back? That stupid event in a long string of stupid events that pushes you over the edge into a blubbering mess.

Whatever it was, I used to get so upset! And now all I do is shrug and move on.

Right now, for example, I’m sitting at a cafe on a warm and sunny day, surrounded by rows of plane trees. New green leaves are bursting forth to shade the small faux marble table and wicker chairs and tits tweet and flutter above me, occasionally dropping twigs as they make their nests.

I’m sipping my espresso, peacefully writing, making the most of this gorgeous afternoon and taking the time to rest my blistered feet, as I wait patiently for the metro to be repaired.

“Le metro est en panne!”

Two years ago those words would have made me cry.

“But, but… I just want to go home. What does ‘en panne’ mean? How do I get home? My feet hurt. I’m thirsty. I’m sunburnt. I’ve been walking around lost all day. I didn’t find what I came into town to find. I can’t call anyone. How do the public phone booths work? What words do I need to know to ask for help? How do I ask for a phone card? No, not a mobile card. I don’t want a mobile card!”

Oh yeah, that’s why I couldn’t just chill back then. It’s amazing how language can either debilitate or empower us. My whole day used to be one little struggle after another.

Now, when I hear those words “Le metro est en panne!”, I find myself giving that French shrug that says ‘C’est la vie’ and march back up the stairs, call Yves on my mobile to tell him I’ll be late home, find a cafe, sit down, relax and order something to drink.

I can even specify what I want, right down to the bubbles.

“What have you got in the way of cold drinks? Oh, no I don’t feel like an orange juice. Yes that sounds nice, a still mineral water. A coffee would be great too, thanks.”

Et voila!

Now all I have to do is work on my mysterious writer look as I sit here scribbling away, word after word, page after page. I could get used to this.